The Runaways
by Meercatwhisperer112
Summary: Two children from completely different backgrounds, trapped together in the same orphanage. When Natasha is adopted by a less than savoury individual, Clint and Barney devise a plan to get her out, and to get away themselves- only for Barney to leave them by the wayside. Now they must struggle through life as runaways; it won't be easy, but their lives never are.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Woah! Hold up there! Okay, so this is a companion piece to my other story, 'The Backwaters,' but I reckon you'll probably be able to understand this well enough without having read that. In case you don't, I'll just give you a basic run down at the end of this. Now, speaking of THIS! WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL? I meant for this to be a quick oneshot- perhaps two thousand words, max! Instead, I'm splitting it into two halves (btw, fair warning, I've no idea WHEN the second half will be up), with the first half standing at 5590 words! I DID NOT PLAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN!**

**Hopefully- for the sake of my sanity- the other companion pieces won't be this long! They probably won't be up for quite a while, I'm sorry to say, but- as depressing as it is- schoolwork needs to come first. That said, I managed to get this done, so there's a start!**

**And to all of you who read The Backwaters, reviewed, followed and faved, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope this piece lives up to your expectations, and if you want to review/follow/fave it too, well! I certainly won't complain!**

**So, with that little spiel over, I now present you with part 1 of... THE RUNAWAYS (dramatic music plays in the background)**

* * *

**Before**

They live in a little house a little way into the woods, with a beat up old car and more alcohol than food. His mother is a slight thing, with skin so pale it's almost translucent and eyes constantly widened with fear. His father is a beast of a man, tall and dark and heavyset, perfectly happy to take out any smaller creatures that get in the way.

Clint's earliest memory is from when he is about three or four. His father comes home even later than usual, even drunker than usual, bloodshot eyes and cheeks reddened from the alcohol. His father always has red cheeks. Clint thinks it makes him look like a devil- like a devil from the children's cartons he watches when his father isn't home.

If his father is a devil then his brother is an angel- the same dark hair as their father, but eyes so blue they gleam, stepping in front of him as their father slams into the house.

"Boys!" he shouts, and their mother takes it as her cue to flee. "BOYS! Get down here now!" Clint is trembling, but Barney takes his hand and leads him downstairs. Their father looms above them, his breath reeking of whisky, and with a casual bat of his hand he sends Barney tumbling to the other side of the room before snatching Clint by the ankle and shaking him, shaking him and shaking him until the world goes black and the memory ends.

* * *

They live in a large house in a nice neighbourhood on the edge of town, with a lady to do the cleaning and a man who cuts the grass in summer and shovels snow in winter. Her mom is beautiful, with gently curling red hair and eyes like melted chocolate. Her father is tall, with dark hair and a well trimmed beard.

Her earliest memory is of the three of them walking through the snow. Her parents are holding her hands, swinging her into the air as she giggles gleefully. It's the day after Christmas, and the snow is taller than she is- without them she would be trapped in it.

"You know, Natasha," her father tells her in Russian as they hike her over a particularly deep drift, "one day you will be tall enough to get through the snow. And when you are, you will be the most beautiful woman in Russia- all the men will want to dance with the Lady Romanoff." Her mother shoots her father a look and after their next swing, she chips in.

"But you will choose only the best boy, won't you Natasha? Because you will be very smart too, and you will not need a man to protect you. Will she?"

"Oh, no," her father says, backtracking quickly one he realises what he's done. "Of course she won't. She will be so smart and strong that, uh, she'll be the one protecting her boy. Isn't that right, Natasha?" She pauses, considering, before turning to her father.

"Papa, can I do a ballet practice?" Both parents smile indulgently, and they turn to go back indoors, making a game of following the footsteps they'd created before.

"Natasha," says her mother as they walk, "you never answered your father's question."

"I'm not going to be clever and strong," she replies, clambering over a small log that is in her way. Her parents frown slightly, glancing at each other concern. "I'm clever and strong already," the little girl continues, oblivious to their relief at this statement. "Papa, can I have some chocolate after my ballet practice?"

"We'll see," he hums, and he swings her up onto his shoulders, carrying her back home.

* * *

When Clint is six, his father pushes Barney down the stairs, breaking his arm in a way that the bone is poking through the skin. Their mother, in a unique display of initiative, loads her family into the car and drives them to the local hospital. Barney is whimpering the entire drive, while their dad warns him of the consequences of bleeding on the seat.

When they get there, it turns out that Barney has to have an operation on his arm- nothing major, but enough that they'll have to remain at the hospital several more hours. Clint sees an opportunity- after all, according to the TV, doctors help people. He slips away from his parents and finds the reception desk, where he asks a lady in blue, one of the many ladies in blue, if he can speak to the doctor. The lady, who says she's a nurse, asks him why.

"It's about my brother," he says, and explains how Barney got his broken arm. The nurse's frown gets deeper and deeper as the story progresses, and by the end he's worried that her face might fall off.

"That's very bad," she says, and he's relieved that she understands. "That's very, very bad. What did you say your name was?"

"Clint," he tells her breathlessly, and she straightens up. _She's going to help me_ he thinks, and he wonders what she'll do. Perhaps she'll call 911, and get a load of fire fighters to help stop his dad. Or the army!

"Clint, has anyone ever told you the story of the boy cried wolf?" He pauses, because isn't that the story about the boy who lies a lot? Next thing he knows, his ear is in a vice like grip and the lady is dragging him through the hallways, only to deposit him in front of his parents.

"Oh?" says his father when she's finished explaining his 'lie.' "I see. Honey, stay here and wait for news on Barney. Clint's obviously upset at what happened to his brother, and we need to have a talk." His mother pales, but nods. The nurse smirks smugly and stalks off. Clint learns the hard way that not everything you see on TV is true- the doctors don't care and the nurses are snitches. The army won't come and the fire fighters- well, he's not even sure that they exist. In this painful world, he and Barney are on their own.

* * *

She's eight and curled up on a plastic chair in the waiting room, devouring yet another book. Her room at home is already filled with them, unlike the hospital- all they have are magazines about cooking and how to get skinny, both things she's never had any interest in.

Down the corridor, behind the third door on the right, her mother is hooked up to lots of creepy tubes and buzzing machines, which make her think of the aliens from one of her books. The aliens stole her mother's hair, and if the whispered conversations she pretends she doesn't hear are true, they're stealing her mother's life as well. Her father is in there, doing something, but she's not allowed in because she's a child, and if that isn't the most unfair thing in the world then she doesn't know what is.

"Do you want anything to drink" One of the nurses smiles down at her, but she doesn't return the beam, sombrely shaking her head back as she has the last five times this nurse has asked. She is not a shy child; she simply does not have anything to say to these people around her.

The sound of a door shutting echoes through the corridor and then her father is there, eyes red rimmed and lower lip trembling. She stretches her arms up and he lifts her gently, holding her close.

"Mama is gone." His voice is rough, cracking with grief. "Tonight I need you to pack your bag. In the morning we are going to America."

* * *

At school they are known as the Barton brothers, the freaks, the poor kids with the shabby clothes and the father that everyone knows is a drunk. When they come to school with bruises, the teachers blink and look away, and the other kids throw stones and call them names, names which Barney takes stoically but which cut Clint to the quick, useless, worthless, weirdo, ugh guys better go, Clint Barton's here. He's sat at the back with Paul, who's dyslexic, and Sadie, who everyone calls downy and who doesn't know how to smile right. Sadie's a lost cause, he knows that from the start, but he tries to talk to Paul. Paul knocks his tooth out, and the next day Barney breaks his face. The brothers are suspended from school for a week, and the reaction at home is ugly to say the least, but after that no one messes with Clint. At school they're known as the Barton brothers, mad, bad, dangerous, I hear Clint carries a lighter, yeah, well I hear Barney carries a knife. Don't get too close- they're known to be violent.

* * *

Her school in America is completely different from her school in Russia, and though at first she speaks no English, she doesn't have to to know that they're making fun of her. She slowly picks up the language, and she watches American TV shows, and when she's meant to be practicing ballet she's actually mixing her dance with the punches and the kicks performed by the heroes. Strong and clever, her mother had said, but it's hard to be clever when you don't know the language, so for now she'll settle for being strong. Her dad has started to drink a lot more than his usual one scotch in the evenings- it's now three, or even four, and she doesn't like to see him like this, slurring his words and falling over. The kids at school find out, somehow, and Natasha quickly learns the English for 'drunk Russian.' She decides to show them exactly how strong she is, and the day she gets suspended from school for fighting is the day that they're granted their American citizenship.

* * *

When the police car pulls up outside the house, Barney locks himself in his room while Clint hides in the eaves of the attic. Their parents are home, and Clint sees his father being led away in cuffs while his mother sits in their scrubby little patch of grass they call a yard and cries. It takes Janie the policewoman an hour to talk Barney out, and then another two hours for her and her partner, Dan, to find Clint.

"We're not going to hurt you," she promises, and then "you can trust us." Clint thinks about nurses and firemen and scars from a belt; his father had never used a belt on him before that, but he really went wild that time, blood everywhere, he complained that it stained the leather, all because he trusted a nurse. But Barney is standing there, Barney will be going too, and Clint gives a small nod before getting into the car.

They take him to a place that isn't an orphanage, it's a home, except it isn't really. It has about fifty other kids, and they all look angry all the time, they hit him and push him and he has bruises here as often as he did before. Barney is fine- Barney knows how to fight, learnt to punch from their father, learnt the hard way sure, but it keeps them away from him. They take out their anger on Clint, take out their frustrations on him, because one Barton is as good as another. It isn't a home, because Barney isn't standing up for him, and Clint is reminded yet again that there are no heroes.

* * *

The aliens take her father, too, soon after the new passports are issued, so she's sent to a big cardboard building filled with kids that are meant to be her new brothers and sisters. Only thing is, her new brothers and sisters spend all their time shouting and jeering and kicking and punching, and Tasha is very glad she chose strong over clever, because clever would be of no use here. She hates them, hates them all, all except one boy who's name she doesn't know, who has permanent bruises on his arm and so much pain in his eyes that it makes her heart burst. The next time she sees the older boys messing with him, she steps up to do something.

"Hey, Barton!" one of them crows. "Look! It's your handsome prince, all ready to rescue you! What are you gonna do, bitch?" Her knuckles are split and bleeding by the end of the fight, but the important thing is that they retreat. Clint, however, looks even more depressed than before.

"Great," he mutters. "Now when they come back they're going to be extra mad. Thanks." She frowns, because he's not meant to be annoyed, he's meant to be grateful to her. Perhaps he doesn't understand how things work.

"No, they're not, because they're not going to come back." He quirks an eyebrow.

"How'd you know?"

"Because they know they don't want to mess with my friend." If possible, his frown deepens, but now he looks more confused than worried.

"Why? You're scary. You could be friends with anyone here." And, for the first time since she arrived at this stupid cardboard building, she smiles.

"Yes, but I want to be friends with you."

* * *

Barney pulls him aside to talk soon after. The first time they've really spoken since they arrived, and it's because he wants Clint to give up his only friend.

"We're family Clint," he says, mouth twisting in anger. "It's you and me against the world. You really gonna let that girl come in and ruin things?"

"Yes," snaps Clint, scowling up at Barney, "because she helped me when you wouldn't. Go away, Barney; I don't want to talk to you."

* * *

About a week after she becomes friends with Clint, the big teenager that she knows to be his brother comes up to her, and he looks angry.

"Listen here, you little bitch," he snarls, and she grimaces, because he spat on her face. "You're not going to talk to my brother any more, you got it? You're not even going to look at him! If I see you so much as in the same room as him-"

She does the only thing she can think of. She socks him in the jaw.

* * *

"Clint?" They're sitting on the roof of the orphanage. It's out of bounds, but it's the only quiet place in the whole building, and the frigid air is refreshing.

"Yeah?"

"They told me earlier- I'm getting adopted." It's like time stops, and Clint can feel his stomach drop. No. No, she can't be. She's his only friend. She can't be adopted.

"That's great," he manages weakly. "When do you go?"

"In two days. I'll write to you, I promise." He nods. He can't bring himself to reply.

* * *

The man, who is a divorced dentist, has quite a big house, though not as big as her house in Russia. He gives her two teddy bears when she arrives, as well as a plate of cookies. That night, when she goes to bed he gives her a hug

The next day they make a cake together and he gives her a new dress- pink, her least favourite colour. That nigh, when she goes to bed, he gives her a kiss on the cheek.

The third day at his house, he explains how he's going to home school her, because, although her English has improved very quickly, he still thinks she'd be better with one to one lessons. School kicks off with a beautiful set of colouring pencils, and what is clearly a very expensive set of marker pens. That night when she goes to bed he kisses her on the lips.

Three days later she's sat cross legged on the floor, scanning through the letter she's written for Clint. It's short, and to the point, but he'll understand the urgency. He has to.

_Clint_

_He's evil. He seems sweet, and he acts sweet, but he's a bit _too_ loving for my tastes; Kapeesh? Please, you have to get me out._

_Tasha_

* * *

Barney finds him the night that Tasha leaves, sat on the roof with his arms wrapped around his knees.

"I told you," says the older boy. "It's you and me against the world. You see how fast she left you? That's not me Clint; I didn't stick up for you because I didn't want things to be like they were back at school."

"What do you want, Barney?" asks Clint listlessly, staring at the same stars he'd stared at with Tasha just three nights before.

"Clint, I'm getting out of here." Clint freezes before turning to face his brother, throat closing up.

"You... you're getting adopted?" Barney laughs.

"God, no, Clint; who would want me? I'm running away! I'm running away and I want... I need you to come with me. We can go to New York! Anyone can make it big in New York- even two screwed up brothers that nobody wants. We can have a better life than anything this shithole has to offer." Clint bites his lip, unsure- if they run away, how will he stay in touch with Tasha? He can't get her letters if he's living on the streets.

But Tasha has been adopted and has a new life, one far away from Clint and this beaten orphan nonsense. She doesn't need him anymore- hell, she never needed him in the first place, and without her, there's nothing for him here.

When he receives her letter a few days later, his blood runs cold. He understands all right, and he wishes he doesn't. He shows the letter to Barney, whose lip curls up into a sneer.

"So? What do you want me to do about it?"

"Barney, we have to help her," Clint insists. Barney shakes his head and turns away, but Clint steps in front of him. Not this time. "Barney, you're going to help me get her out of there or you're going to New York alone." The older boy narrows his eyes and steps forward, towering over Clint dangerously.

"Who says you get a say in what happens? You're coming to New York if I fucking tell you to come to New York."

And Clint wonders when this happened- when his older brother, his protector, the one with their mothers blue eyes and quirky, crooked smile, suddenly began to look more like their father. Looming. Dangerous. Threatening.

But Clint is tired of being threatened.

"If you try to force me to do anything, I will yell loud enough that the staff come and stop you. Then neither of us are going anywhere."

* * *

_We're coming tonight. Put these into his food, and then grab as many __val __valu__ valubles as you can. We'll be there at midnight._

She wakes up to find the note on the end of the bed, and scans through it three times before tearing it to pieces and flushing it down the toilet. With it come two pills- she doesn't know what they are, but that night she offers to serve the soup and puts them into his bowl. He's face down on the table by the end of the meal.

The house is filled with fancy rugs and expensive sculptures, a massive TV and a luxury massage chair. Nothing big enough for her to snatch. In his briefcase she finds a brand new phone and a music player. His wallet has several hundred dollars, and in a safe that was hidden behind the painting she chances upon a load of jewellery and a photo of a pretty lady she's never seen before. She takes it all except the photo. She also takes the canned food from the kitchen, and a can opener too. She doesn't know where they're going, but wherever it is, they'll need to eat. The young Russian doesn't know who constitutes 'we' either- as far as she is aware, Clint has no other friends at the orphanage.

When he arrives with Barney, her heart both sinks and lifts at the same time. Lifts because it's Clint, and he's here, and she's getting out. Sinks because the only time she's ever spoken to Barney Barton, it ended with her punching him.

But he's brought gasoline and matches, and he lets her stare for a few minutes as the flames race through the house, the light of them flickering through the windows as they consume everything, the dress and the teddy bears included. Good riddance.

Then they're running- along winding country roads, through farmer's fields, more exercise than she's gotten since her father died, legs aching and lungs burning and still they run, until the flames are only a flicker in the distance. As the dawn sun peeks over the horizon, they collapse on a ridge, gasping and wheezing and abruptly swallowed by sleep.

* * *

The next day they trudge, away from towns and roads and people, away from anyone who might see them and worry about three homeless kids. Cause that's what they are now, isn't it? Homeless kids. Clint finds the idea invigorating.

They trudge and trudge, and they get chased a few times, when it turns out they're on someone else's land. Heads down, shoulders bowed, muscles stiff from the night before. They can't risk a fire, so they eat the food cold. They've no utensils to eat it with so they use their fingers or they drink it, and when they're done the leave the cans on the grass.

A week after they run away, Clint finds himself being shaken awake by his brother.

"Huh? What's going on?" he asks, mind still foggy from sleep. Next to him, Tasha sleeps soundly.

"I'm giving you one last chance," hisses Barney. "It's me, or it's the bitch; your brother, or some stupid girl who left you behind when she got adopted." Clint blinks at him blearily, taking a second to understand what is being said.

"For fuck's sake Barney, how many times do I have to say it? I'm not leaving Tasha behind. Now go to sleep."

"You've got until dawn to change your mind," warns Barney, "and if you don't, you're going to regret it. If you make the right choice, you'll meet me at the roads."

"Whatever," mutters Clint, already falling back asleep.

* * *

He leaves them with a mars bar and half a bottle of water, which Clint has drunk by midday, much to her annoyance. Everything else is gone- the money, the food, even the two coloured pencils that she took with her from the bedroom. All of it, taken by that dick that Clint calls- called- brother.

So they hike along the motorway until they reach a small town at the edge of a forest. The town is crappy- run down houses with tatty paint and weeds in the garden, boarded up store fronts and rubbish in the streets- but there are people there, and people mean food. They follow a forest path a little ways along until they find a clearing. That night, she heads down to the town and returns with two cans of food. It's not much, but it's enough.

Six days later, a genius and his cousin stumble into their lives.

* * *

They wave goodbye to Tony, but he doesn't wave back. Just like that, he's gone, and Pepper is still snivelling, and Clint feels cold, and none of them feel like playing bullshit.

School starts up again the next day, and he and Tasha are left to their own devices while the others are in lessons. They talk, and they hunt for wild plants, and they wonder what they're going to do when winter comes. He wishes they'd thought to ask Pepper to leave the fishing rods.

When school finishes, the others troop down to the lake for a lacklustre game of cards. Even Pepper's steady stream of chatter dwindles down to the occasional comment in the face of their melancholy. The space left by the missing three eats away at them, like an infected wound. That evening, Steve suggests that perhaps they only come down every other day- they have to be able to keep up with homework, after all, and this way they'll have more to talk about. Clint asks Pepper if they might be able to borrow the rods, and her face scrunches up as she considers.

"Daddy will notice if I don't bring them back," the ginger says finally, "but we have a crafts book at home, and one of the pages is on making fishing rods; I can lend it to you, if you want." Clint nods, and she tells him to meet her by the diner the next afternoon, an hour after school lets out.

They leave again, and Clint feels worse than ever. Tasha shoves him and tells him to stop moping, because he's going to have to get used to it.

* * *

That night it rains again, for the first time since their disastrous campout. They take refuge in the hillock, which no longer seems cool and sophisticated, but now reminds her of a musty barrow for the kings of old. The blankets are stiff with mud, and she thinks there may be spiders hiding in them. She doesn't mention this to Clint.

The ginger wishes she could shake them out of this slump that they've gotten themselves into, but she doesn't know how. Suddenly all their problems, which seemed so small at the start of the summer, seem to turn big. It's overwhelming, crushing her down, constricting her lungs and making her feel like-

So Tasha turns her attention to Clint instead. He's curled up on the blankets, lip bloody from biting it so hard to try and keep himself from crying. Seeing that he has her attention, he finally admits what is on his mind.

"I want Tony back." The voice is small, barely even a whisper, and trembling dangerously. She puts his head in her lap and stokes his hair back, looking after him because no one else will. And in this moment, this stillness, she voices aloud an idea that has been nagging the back of her mind since the young prodigy drove away.

"What if we went to New York?" Clint freezes, staring up at her with his large brown eyes.

"Why would we go to New York?"

"Tony's gone. Thorki are gone. The others are all at school. You heard Steve, Clint- when will every other day become once a week? Become 'oh, I haven't spoken them in a while, I should probably... I've got homework, I'll do it tommorow'?"

"So we just leave?" he asks, and struggles to sit up. "Tasha, I don't want to. I... we... we already ran away once. Why would we...?"

"Forget I said anything." He looks at her quizzically. "It was just an idea. A suggestion. But if you don't want to, then we won't." The dark-haired boy looks relieved and settles back down, while her thoughts return to the problems. "If we stay here, though, I think we should have a contingency plan.

"What in the hell is that?"

"A backup plan. In case something goes wrong."

"What would go wrong?" She scowls.

"I don't know. Just with Coulson prowling, and Ross and his gang out for blood and stuff... what if we get separated? What if we get caught, and they split us up, and send us to different homes or whatever they're even fucking called? What then?"

"Okay, okay, calm down. Christ, forget I asked. How about this: New York is our Conting-whatever plan? If we ever get separated, we meet at the base of the Statue of Liberty on your birthday the year you turn sixteen. And if our orphanages won't let us out, then we try again the year you turn 25. Sound good?" Tasha hesitates, then nods.

"Base of the statue of Liberty," she confirms, before yawning. "We should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow we've got a full day of doing nothing." Clint grins.

"I love being a runaway!"

* * *

He hates being a runaway.

Mosquito bites pepper his arms, and his nails are long and grimy. His dark hair now reaches his shoulders, and he's pretty sure he smells really, really bad.

"You smell really, really bad," Tasha agrees, seeming to read his mind and wrinkling her nose. "Like, as bad as the bathrooms in the orphanage-home-whatever you fucking call it." He scowls and flips her the bird.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? Or do you have a shower hidden up your ass? 'Cause that would explain a lot!" She cuffs him upside the head and he stumbles away, laughing.

"Try the lake, idiot. You'll at least get some of the dirt off you." So she goes foraging in the woods while he strips off and dives in, scrubbing at his filthy skin with his fingernails before swirling his clothes, which are crusty with sweat and other, gross things, through the water. By the time Tasha comes back, he's changed into his spare clothes, wet hair clinging to his scalp. She bursts out laughing.

"You look like a drowned rat!"

"I do not!" he yells, and grabs at her arms. They grapple, and he eventually succeeds in pushing her into the lake... sort of. She grabs his ankle as she goes down and drags him in after her, soaking his clothes. Again.

So he has to just sit there for an hour in the sun, doing nothing while he waits to dry. Tasha is alright- she has her spare clothes to change into. He takes this as yet more proof that nothing good can come of trying to be clean.

He still isn't completely dry by the time he heads up to town, clothes chafing uncomfortably. Tasha smirks at his stilted gait and he pulls a face at her. When they finally get to the diner he is hot and uncomfortable, longing to take another dip in the coolness of the lake.

Tasha has two dollars on her that she grabbed from the counter of the last house she broke into, nearly two weeks ago now. They have been living off the food that Tony bought for them, but it won't last much longer, and they'll have to start the burglaries again. It is not an appealing prospect.

"I'm going to grab us some ice cream," she says, indicating the dollar store across the road. "You stay here and wait for Pepper."

"Yeah, sure." He sticks his hands into his pockets as she crosses over, trying not to look like he is loitering.

"You sure look shady," says a little voice; it's Pepper, grinning up at him, because, like Tony once said, she never seems to do anything _but. _"Are... are you wet?" She's clutching the book close to herself and eyeing his damp clothes apprehensively, like she's worried that they'll bite.

"Don't worry," he promises, "I won't damage your book. Swear." She hesitates a second longer, and it's a good thing she does, because a hand falls on each of their shoulders.

"Hello," says Coulson.

* * *

One second.

Okay, more like two minutes, but _still! _He should not have been able to get into trouble that quickly! She's standing at the till, clutching three Popsicles (because it was a three for a dollar deal and she figured Pepper might want one) when she glances through the shop window and see Clint and Pepper on the other side of the street, being loomed at by Coulson.

Even a surprise attack by Ross and his gang would be better than this! Quickly stepping away from her purchase, Tasha sidles out the door and tries to look discreet as she watches the scene unfold before her.

* * *

"Phil!" gasps Pepper. "I mean Agent! I mean... I..."

"Hello," he repeats. Despite the heat the man is immaculately dressed in a starched black suit, piercing blue eyes staring down at her; these eyes now swivel to Clint.

"Ah; Clint Barton. You've given us quite a scare young man, what with running away and all. Not the best of your ideas, I have to say. But it's all right- I've found you, safe and sound, and we can get you to wherever you need to be." Clint tries to take a step back, but the fingers dig into his shoulder with a sudden intensity that makes him wince.

"Please, sir; I can't bear it, I like it here, you don't understand I-" he freezes, catching sight of Tasha. Coulson follows his gaze and his eyes widen when he catches sight of the redhead. "**RUN!**" yells Clint suddenly, as loud as he possibly can, and Tasha doesn't have to be told twice. She darts away, weaving like a rabbit through the throngs of confused pedestrians. Coulson hesitates, unsure if he should follow, before deciding against it and turning back to Clint.

"Never mind- we'll find her soon. As for you, young man, I'm sorry but you have to come with me. Oh, but one more thing." he turns back to Pepper. "I don't appreciate being lied to." What with the terrible turn the events have taken and the full intensity of those sharp eyes focused on her, Pepper looks as though she might cry. Clint widens his eyes slightly, and gives an almost imperceptible nod. _It's okay _he tries to tell her _just do it. _She understands.

"I've never seen him before in my life," she sniffles. Coulson sighs, shakes his head, and leads Clint away.

* * *

**Okay, so basic rundown- Tasha is from Russia, parents dead, sent to an American orphanage. Clint's dad beats him and Barney, they get sent to same orphanage. Tasha gets adopted, Clint and Barney rescue her. The pills were sleeping tablets, and Barney lets her drop the match that burns the house down. After Barney ditches, they spend an almost idyllic summer with the other Avengers, which is detailed in The Backwaters for anyone who wants to read *shamelessly self promotes* After that... well, you'll just have to wait for part two!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**You know, I've heard stories of authors who are able to write stories, oneshots even, of less than five thousand years. I personally believe that, if they ever existed, that magic has long since been lost.**

**This monstrosity stands at just over 7000 words... and still isn't done. Sorry about that. Part three will be up whenever I can manage it, and reviews are fuel to the fire that is my inspiration. Happy reading!**

* * *

**After**

She doesn't look back, and she hates herself for it.

Clint's panicked face flashes through her mind as she bobs and weaves through the startled pedestrians, feet light like only a ballerina's can be. His words echo through her ears, her heart beating out an agreement- _run, run, run_.

It takes only a few minutes to reach the end of town, and she doesn't pause, bypassing the path altogether and scrambling through the bushes and the undergrowth. When she finally reaches the clearing her arms and legs are seeping blood through deep scratches, her clothes are torn and she has a mixture of twigs and leaves in her hair.

The young girl doesn't know how much time she has- how long until Coulson sends more people looking for her, how long until they manage to force the location of the Hillock out of Clint, and she can't go back. She doesn't know if they know what she's done, but if they do then she's dead.

So instead, Tasha snatches up a mud encrusted blanket, a pen-knife, her still damp spare clothes, three cans of food and a can opener, stuffing them into the beat up old backpack that was once Barney's schoolbag. It is meagre, definitely not enough to survive off, but it will have to do. She adds the two dollars that she somehow has kept a hold of all this time, shoulders the bag and continues to run.

* * *

He isn't sure how long he's been sat in this car, only that it has been far too long.

Coulson is in the front, and hasn't said a word since they got into the word, though every now and then Clint sees the bright flash of blue when the man checks on him in the rear-view mirror. It's like the agent is worried that he'll try and make a break for it, and he has to admit, the thought has crossed his mind; however, even he isn't stupid enough to jump out of a car that is speeding down the interstate at seventy miles per hour.

There is a bitter taste in his mouth as he thinks about Pepper's words- _I've never seen him before in my life_. It's happening, just as he described it to Tony- the young genius has gone, and Thorki have gone, and Steve and the others don't want to know, and now Tasha's fled, and he's not alone, but he might as well be. He thinks about what he said to Tony- not alone, never alone, but forgotten. _A person you knew once, whose name you can't think of but whose face you can sort of remember._

"Agent?" he asks, and Coulson blinks at him in the mirror.

"Yes?" The man doesn't even bother correcting him, and in any other circumstance Clint might consider that a victory.

"What's another way of saying back up plan?"

"You mean a plan B?" Clint shakes his head, desperately trying to remember it. He has so much trouble with words, so much trouble remembering what they are. Tasha said once that he might be dyslexic. He still doesn't know what that means, because she didn't explain it very well, but she was probably right- she usually is.

"It starts with con."

"A contingency plan?" He pauses, considering.

"Yeah, I think that was it... could you write that down for me? Um, please?"

* * *

That night, for the first time since her mother died, she fucking died okay, aliens had nothing to do with it- for the first time since her mother died, she lets herself cry. The tears trickle, leaving hot and salty tracks on her cheeks. She cries about her mother and her father, about her friends and the fact that she's alone in the middle of nowhere. She cries about a match she dropped, and the minister who used to come to the orphanage once a week to teach them about right and wrong, who once slapped a boy for asking if Satan could be saved and who explained to them how some types of love could be evil. She cries because she there is nothing else for her to do, and when she is done she sleeps.

After that it takes her three days.

Three days of tramping and trudging, begging where she can and occasionally running when a stranger offers to call the police for her, to help her 'get home.' The runaway doesn't even know where home is anymore- an empty mansion in Russia that may not even be hers? A dilapidated cottage where her father drank himself to death? Or a cardboard building with fifty other kids who took 'survival of the fittest' _very_ seriously?

She ponders on it, both in Russian and in English, and finds that both languages supply the same images- Clint, basking in the sun next to the lake. Loki and Tony teaming up to tease Steve, Thor showing Pepper how to fight, Bruce earnestly explaining the science behind something. Picnic baskets and fishing rods and a cramped little Hillock that held all their worldly possessions. Everything snatched away by that bastard, Coulson. Why couldn't he have just left them alone?

And at the end of the third day, with blisters to make a lesser mortal weep and shoes that may or may not be stained with blood, she finally reaches the city. _Anyone can make it big in New York_, Barney had said, but this will have to do for now. It will be difficult, definitely, but Tasha knows that she is both strong and clever; anyone who messes with her is going to find themselves in for a world of hurt.

* * *

They take him to a powder blue office with a lady made from plastic- at least, that's what he thinks at first. A second glance reveals that she is just wearing a scary amount of makeup, her smile seemingly sewed in place. He has to sit on a bright red plastic chair while they ask him dumb questions like he's some sort of baby. Coulson's disappeared off somewhere- the lady asking him questions is some woman called Miss Hill, and when she can't get anything out of him, a man called Mr Fury. Fury is a lot harsher, demanding instead of asking, and he gets really mad when Clint says stuff about his eye patch. Clint makes sure to mention his eye patch as often as he can.

Eventually, when Fury looks like he's about to explode, the plastic woman steps in and tells him that, thank you Clint, that's all we need for now. Fury shoots him a death glare, and Clint just grins back, the first time he's smiled all day, damn does it feel good. The lady tells him he's going to be put into 'emergency foster care,' and Clint's heard of that before- it's where they send you to a house, instead of a 'home,' with a lady who may or may not be nice.

"So where's my new foster mother?" he asks, and he does his best to put as much sneer as possible into his voice- her stupid pink smile is annoying him, and he wants to see it wiped off her face.

"That would be me," says a voice behind him, and he whips around to see Coulson, standing in the doorway and looking amused though there's nothing to look amused about.

"What? No." Clint is desperately hoping this is some sort of sick joke, that that's why Coulson looks amused, but one look at Lady Plastic tells him that it's not. Instead, he stomps forward and jabs a finger at Coulson's chest. "I don't like you. If you think for one second that I'll fucking behave just because you're a secret agent, you'd better thing again, because it is NOT HAPPENING! Understand?"

The agent doesn't say anything, just puts a hand on Clint's shoulder and leads him away. As they walk, the man hands him a piece of paper. On it, in neat, block writing, is the word CONTINGENCY.

* * *

She knows she hasn't a chance in the big leagues- she's only ten, after all, and she might be eleven in a couple of months, but it still isn't very much when dealing with men who have done it for years. So she asks around, her torn clothes and dirty face an instant doorway to information. Eventually she finds what she's looking for.

It's run by Andre, who's sixteen, and Mattie, his sister who Tasha thinks might be fifteen. They're set up in the back of an old warehouse with cracks in the ceiling and holes in the walls. She is lead there by a little boy who everyone calls Bean. He is as small as Bruce, possibly smaller, with hollow cheeks and quick fingers that get into her pockets in a flash. She laughs then, because she has nothing left to steal.

"Who's she?" asks Andre when she arrives.

He is pretty tall for a sixteen year old, with dark skin, torn jeans and a scar under one eye. Two other kids are talking to him, but they immediately shut up when he speaks. Bean opens his mouth to answer, but Tasha cuts in.

"My name is Natalie Rushman," she tells him, and he quirks an eyebrow. She can see that he knows the name is fake, but it doesn't matter- if she had any money she would bet it on his name not being Andre. In a world as temporary as theirs, something as permanent as a name isn't shared lightly.

"And what do you want, Natalie?"

"I need somewhere to sleep, and I need a steady supply of food." One of the other kids snorts and mutters something like 'yeah, well, don't we all?', but Andre ignores him.

"And why does that concern me?"

"I'm quite," Tasha begins, before stopping herself; this is no time for modesty. "I can fight. And I can break into pretty much anywhere. Unless I take something big, they won't even realise they've been robbed. I'm useful." For the first time since she arrived, Andre looks at her, properly, turning to face her full-on. Their eyes lock, and for a second her heart stops- they are the same eyes she sees when she thinks of Clint, the same eyes she sees when she passes a window or a particularly shiny car: they are haunted, broken, hiding it all with a thin veneer of sarcasm and bitter humour.

"Sounds good," he says, "but that's what they all say; Bean?" Suddenly there is a fist flying towards her. Without even pausing to think, the redhead ducks underneath it before sweeping out with her legs. The smaller boy goes flying, landing hard on his back, and she flicks her hair out of her face before turning to glare at Andre.

"Satisfied?" He smirks.

"Yeah, you'll do. Welcome to the family. Oh, but one thing- the ginger's gonna have to go: way too obvious. Lils?" And a girl with bleached hair and a nose ring reaches forward and grabs her arm, dragging her into what turns out to be a labyrinth of back rooms. Tasha opens her mouth to ask what is happening, but shuts it again, not wanting to appear scared. Her hair, originally in a short bob, now swishes past her shoulders, a shimmering red wave that looks just like her mother's.

"I'm Lilith," says the girl, shoving her into a bathroom and turning on one of the taps, tossing Tasha a ratty old towel. "Call me Lils and I will kill you. Only Andre can call me Lils." The redhead nods, trying not to look apprehensive as she eyes the bottle of goo that Lilith is mixing up. "So, yeah, Andre's right- everyone notices a ginger. I would bleach it, but I think you'd look better with dark hair."

"Do I get a say in this?"

"No," Lilith replies, not even looking up from the now blue gunk. "Wrap the towel around your shoulders and lean forward." Tasha obliges, and watches in the mirror as the red is smothered.

* * *

Coulson actually has a pretty big house for a guy who's not even an agent, and Clint gets his own room. There are no other emergency foster kids around- there's no one else around at all. Coulson and his wife got divorced, and now it's just him in this big old house, all alone, by himself. The runaway doesn't feel bad at all- because of him, Tasha is alone too, and she doesn't have a big house or a fridge. Still, the bed is very wide and very, very comfortable. The pillows are goose feather, the blankets are warm as toast and there's no mud or spiders anywhere. He decides he can probably bear to stay for a few days.

Coulson himself is difficult to figure out. His poker face is immense, and Clint can never tell if he's annoyed or amused. Those piercing blue eyes are absolutely terrifying, but the guy seems kind of okay, for an adult, and a care worker to boot. The man's room is on the other side of the house, but he promises Clint need only yell and he'll be there. Clint snorts- what is he, some sort of baby? He hasn't shouted for anyone since the time his dad caught him sneaking to Barney's room and threw him against the wall (and no, that one night in the clearing when he had that nightmare doesn't count, because Tasha was already there, and anyway, it didn't happen).

The agent takes him shopping, and he gets three pairs of jeans and seven T-shirts, along with two new pair of trainers and a pair of formal shoes. Coulson tells him that this is just to start off with, he can get some more stuff in a bit, when he's better settled down. Clint is too overwhelmed to think of something snarky to say, and somehow finds himself asking for batman pyjamas. It is a stupid request, but for some reason Coulson doesn't mind traipsing all over the store until a saleswoman eventually finds some in a box in the back. That night, he sits in bed and hugs a pillow on his lap, picking at the stitching of his new pyjamas until it has come unravelled.

* * *

She is given a room fairly close to the front- the more important you are, apparently, the further back your room is. More time to escape or something.

It is small and smells strange, with peeling paint and cracks in the ceiling. It consists of a bed and two mattresses, and she shares with Katrina and Sadie. Katrina, who is Katty to Andre and Andre alone, gets the bed because she's nearly thirteen. She makes it very clear on Tasha's first night who is in charge, and though Tasha knows she could probably beat the older girl in a fight, she _needs _for this all to work out. So she says nothing and causes no trouble, and from the knowing looks understands that she'll have an ally in Sadie.

Sadie is eleven, with a pixie cut and a piercing in her lip that she can squirt water through. She is small and skinny, like Tasha, and she shares her clothes- ripped stockings and tight black skirts, charcoal grey crop tops and necklaces with spikes on them. Tasha learns to walk in a pair of heels that make her three inches taller than she normally is, and learns why thick black rings of eyeliner are a good thing, despite what she'd heard from the children in the American schools. One night, using a needle sterilised in mouth wash, they pierce her ears- and then her cartilage, and then her tragus too, and she's fighting back tears as the last one goes wrong and blood begins to trickle into her ear canal.

Katrina laughs and throws a box of tissues at her, which Sadie uses to dab her up. While Katrina meticulously reapplies her navy nail polish, Sadie explains that there's about twenty-five kids who live in the warehouse, and a larger group of maybe fifty or sixty altogether. They do pretty much anything, from deal to steal to trick- everything except pimping, because Mattie wouldn't allow it, and apparently what Mattie wants, Andre gets her. Tasha has an image of Clint, turning sixteen and running a gang like this; he would get her anything she wanted. The thought makes her heart ache, so she banishes it and instead focuses on scraping the blood out of her ear with her now black nails.

* * *

When he turns thirteen, Coulson lets him throw a birthday party- his first one ever. There are ten kids from school invited- seven boys and three girls, and he wants to invite more girls but he's too afraid to. They play a couple of round of laser quest, and then they all have pizza in a restaurant. He gets some music, and a dirty book from one of the boys that Coulson simply smirks at, and a couple of store vouchers, and a video game console from his emergency foster father. When the day is done, Clint can't stop grinning, and the agent turns a blind eye when he spends all night playing video games, even though there's school the next day.

* * *

She climbs out the window, a small satchel clutched tightly to her chest. The two boys on the street below grin, and motion for her to toss it down, which she does. By the time she makes it down from the fourth floor apartment window, they have vanished, and she is forced to trek the long slog back alone.

Sadie is sat on the bed waiting for her- Katrina ran off with a boy and appeared on the news a few days later, missing. That was nearly a year ago, and there is still no word; nobody talks about her, or brings it up.

So now Sadie has the bed, and Tasha is still on the mattress, and the other mattress is where they keep their clothes, because there aren't any drawers. Tasha is cold, wet and miserable when she gets back, but sat on the mattress waiting for her is a cheap pair of gold hoop earrings and a little store bought cupcake. Sadie grins, and wraps her into a warm hug.

"Happy birthday, Natalie," she murmurs into her ear, and they share the cupcake. It is delicious.

* * *

Clint is fourteen when Coulson sits down to dinner with his 'this is a serious talk' face on. The last time he'd worn that face, Clint had gotten D's in all his subjects. The shame he felt, both at the bad marks and at Coulson's disappointment in him, has kept him working hard since, and he is now a straight B student.

"Clint," begins the agent who never was an agent. "Are you happy?" This catches Clint off guard, and he pauses, trying to work out were this is leading.

"Yes, sir," he replies hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" Presses Coulson, and this time the ex-runaway doesn't waver.

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like to stay here? With me?" And now Clint is truly stumped, so he does the only thing he can think of and answers truthfully.

"More than anything," he says, and ignore the questioning little voice in the back of his head asking _Tasha?_

"Clint," says Coulson, and if Clint didn't know better he would say the man looks _nervous. _It's impossible, of course, but the mind can play tricks. "If it's all right with you... well, I'd like to adopt you?"

And it isn't a question, but he makes it sound like it is, and Clint's mind flashes back to an angry ten year old, and his horror at discovering that this man was to be his emergency foster father. Now he can't imagine things going any differently. He doesn't know how to reply, how to say yes, how to say thank you, so he bumps Coulson's shoulder with his fist and gives a shaky smile.

"No worries, old man- I'm not planning on going anywhere." And thank god, Coulson understands.

* * *

She is reminded that this isn't safe, that these people aren't safe, that she cannot get Stockholm's or whatever the equivalent for her situation would be, the weekend that Mattie is attacked.

The now nineteen year old was walking home from shopping when three men attacked her. She managed to fight them off, managed to get away before too great an atrocity is committed, but she is scratched and bruised and scared absolutely shitless. Two days later, Tasha and the others are called to the front room, where Andre stands with a face like thunder.

"Read," he commands, throwing several newspapers in their faces before turning on his heel and storming out the room. Bean, who is six foot tall now and skinny as- well, as a beanpole- and who is now Andre's right-hand man, points them to page four. The article details the murder of three men, found stabbed to death on the side of the road. Police are investigating the murders and suspect it to be gang related. The message is clear- nobody fucks with Mattie and gets away with it.

That night, when Sadie is asleep, Tasha lies on her mattress and ponders it. Andre is tall, and very scary looking. He can be cold, but mostly he smiles, and asks how people are getting on, and pats your head condescendingly when you tell him about how much you got from that house on the other side of town three nights ago. Sometimes he gives the smaller kids, the ten- and eleven-year olds, ten bucks and tells them to buy a box of donuts (and make sure to give him one!). He probably didn't kill the men himself, but he definitely organised it. The thought terrifies her, and her mind flashes back to an angry ten year old, dropping the match that would kill a man. They are one and the same, and if he is a killer then she is a killer too.

* * *

Clint first hears tell of Jessica liking him via a note from his friend Aaron, landing on his desk and telling him exactly that. The ex-runaway doesn't know what to think.

Jessica is very pretty, with large green eyes and a wild mess of curly blonde hair. She has a snub little nose, and a tiny waist- actually, everything about her is tiny; she barely reaches up to Clint's chin.

And yeah, she seems nice enough, but Clint has only actually ever spoken to her once or twice, when they bump into each other in the corridors or that one time she had sat next to him in calculus. He doesn't know what to do- can you date people you don't really know?

"So, man, you gonna ask her out?" asks Aaron at lunch. "Because Chris is practically obsessed with her, and if you don't then he's totally going to make his move!" So Clint, because he feels trapped, and because it is apparently what he is meant to do, asks her if she wants to go the movies sometime.

She says yes, and then the moment he turns and walks away he hears mad squealing, and when he glances back over his shoulder he sees her jumping up and down with three friends. Shaking his head, he heads off- girls are weird.

They go to see a comedy, which isn't very funny, though Jessica laughs at all the jokes anyway. He's not old enough to drive yet, but it doesn't matter, because the town is pretty small and it's summer anyway. He walks her back to her house, and when he says goodnight she kisses him. She smells of shampoo and jasmine and theatre popcorn, and that night he can't stop grinning.

* * *

They hang around near the private schools, switch blades at the ready in their pockets, and approach the special snowflakes that walk home with an air of complete nonchalance.

"Nice necklace," comments Tasha, and the girl falters. They are three blocks from the school gate, four more blocks from the luxury apartment block where she's pretty sure this girl lives, and there's no one else around.

"Thanks," says the girl, absently reaching up to touch it. It is a silver swallow, gliding through nothing, with a small, glittering eye. Tasha thinks it might be a diamond.

"Nice shoes," says Sadie, and Tasha's eyes flick down- she hadn't even noticed them, but they are nice. Leather boots, with a low wedge and fur trimmings. The girl is starting to look scared, taking a step back, but she and Sadie simply take a step forward. She pulls out her blade.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to ask for the necklace," she tells the girl, who has gone white as a sheet.

"And the shoes," adds Sadie.

"And your phone, your music player, that watch- ah ah ah." The hand not holding the blade darts out and grabs the girl's arm in a vice-like grip. "Where do you think you're going?"

They leave with a good $200 worth of stuff. The girl was in tears by the end, but she was unharmed, and that is all Tasha is really bothered about.

"Shotgun the shoes," says Sadie, the bag on her back bouncing with their haul as they walk back to the warehouse.

"Sure, but I want the necklace," replies Tasha, and her roommate agrees. It doesn't really matter who gets what- they share it all anyway. Still, in a world where even their names aren't their own, it is nice to say with certainty 'this is mine.'

They hand in the stuff that isn't the boots or the necklace to Dante, one of the older guys, who gives them ten bucks each for their trouble. It isn't much, but nobody is ever given much- with a place to sleep and food always lying around, there isn't that much more to ask for, especially when you can keep your favourite stuff from every haul.

While Sadie changes into the shoes, Tasha puts the necklace with her other jewellery and tries not to think of the girl, left to walk home barefoot and crying, having just been mugged. It's not like it was a long distance after all- not like with Clint, after Barney stole his shoes. Even now, the thought of Barney makes her blood boil with anger. She wishes she could see the older Barton again, confront him face to face- he'd have a lot more than a sore jaw by the time she has finished with him a second time.

And Sadie's got the shoes on and grins, and Tasha has to admit- they really do look good on her. Tasha pulls on the necklace, and they grab their ten bucks and go to McDonalds, because they're feeling fancy and a meal out is exactly the right thing.

* * *

A couple of days after, Chris stalks up to Clint, and boy does he look _pissed_.

"Here's what you're going to do, you little fostered freak," growls the older boy. "You're going to stay away from her- you're not going to look at her, you're not going to talk to her, and if I hear about any more dates, I'll kick your skinny ass! Are we clear?"

"Clint!" It's Jessica, bounding up to him, smile bright. Her blonde curls bounce as she moves, and her eyes glitter, and when he sees her Clint's heart does a little flutter. He turns back to Chris, who has an eyebrow raised as though to say _your move_.

"You're going to take that," says the Barton, pretending to make a big deal out of musing it over, "and you're going to shove it up your ass. No one tells me what to do, understood?" Chris scowls, and reaches forward, giving Clint's shoulder a small shove.

"I don't think I do understand, Clint."

"Don't. Touch me," warns the foster boy. Chris reaches out and shoves him again, a little harder this time.

"I might need you to explain, Clint."

"Clint, what's going on?" asks Jessica; she looks confused, and a little nervous, suddenly aware of the tension between the two.

"Stop it," he growls, ignoring her and focusing on the older boy. Chris does it again.

"Make me." And with a flash of anger so hot it sears straight through him, Clint draws back his fist and decks him. Chris is lying on the floor, groaning, blood gushing out his nose, and Jessica is shrieking, and everyone around them has stopped, and is staring at him, and whispering.

_Stay away from those Bartons _hisses a treachourous voice in the back of his head. _They're known to be violent._

"You're crazy!" gasp Chris, scrambling to his feet and backing away. "I'm... I'm reporting you!" So Clint does the only thing he can think of: he smiles, long and lazy and slow.

"Good."

* * *

The day is a week after her fifteenth birthday, the day the fragile calm inside their little sanctuary, the warehouse that Andre recently had the money to buy outright, the base for all their illicit operations, nearly explodes.

She can feel it when she wakes up, and one look at Sadie tells her that she can feel it too. The place is a livewire, and a single wrong move can set it off. The air is crackling with tension, and neither of them know why.

Everyone is creeping, whispering in small clumps, trying to figure out the situation. Everyone is hesitant to talk to loud, and no one dares to approach Andre, who looks ready to kill someone.

Tasha and Sadie find out just after lunch, the news trickling through to them, like osmosis, through the bedrooms. They have been offered a room further back several times, but they're happy with the room they have, small and cramped though it may be. They have, however, vetoed an occupant for the third mattress, but the older kids are surprisingly fine with that. Maybe it's because they're now older kids themselves.

Sadie keeps the books now, tracking cash, finding the men that they sell their goods to. Tasha leads the break ins, the younger kids following behind her, always watching and listening out for orders. Their hands are small, perfect for certain precision work, and Tasha is experienced. It is a good setup.

It is not long after they have heard the news that Andre calls a meeting, everyone there. He is 21 now, still in charge of everything. Tasha grimaces to Sadie when they see the expression on the older boy's face- angry doesn't even begin to cover it. He is completely enraged, but he is forcing it down, forcing himself to stay calm. He eyes the group before raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Okay- how many of you don't actually know yet." Only Mitch and Angus, two eleven year olds that arrived last month, raise their hands, and Andre sighs. "Well, then, I'll just tell you this- you won't be seeing her again. Anyone who mentions her to me, or in my presence..." his expression darkens. "That is all."

They quickly hurry from the room, not wanting to spend any more time with him than necessary- not when he's in a mood like this. However, before they can get back to their own room to talk about the events, they are waylaid. It is Mitch and Angus, and they want to know what's going on.

"You know Mattie?" asks Tasha, and the two boys nod. "Well, she's pregnant. Won't tell anybody who the dad is- most people are reckoning she doesn't even know."

"Did Andre kill her?" asks Mitch, and Tasha tells him no, Andre would never do that, no matter how angry he is at her. "Then why won't be seeing her again?"

"He's sent her out state," says a voice behind them, and they all spin guiltily, panicked at having been caught. It is Bean, and he looks grave. "To a flat in a town in the middle of nowhere. You won't have heard of it- nobody has. Nobody goes there either." Mitch and Angus slip away, uncomfortable at being around so many older kids.

"Why is he so mad?" asks Sadie. "People get pregnant all the time, right? I mean, it's not great, but..." Bean rubs the back of his neck and starts to walk through the maze of corridors, Tasha and Sadie following behind.

"He set this whole thing up for her, you know? They were put into a foster home, when he was fourteen and she was thirteen. The family beat him, and he was worried that they would do the same to her. So they grabbed their stuff and ran. He knew they couldn't join a gang, not with his sister- he'd seen enough films to know what they would do to her. So he set up his own, rounding up all the street kids he could find, kids too young or too scared to join gangs. He refused to have anything to do with prostitution because it might have endangered her. He would have killed for her- we all know he did. And then, after all that, she gets herself knocked up by some stranger... I guess he feels like it's all been for nothing." They reach Tasha and Sadie's bedroom, and Bean leaves them with a quick "See ya Sadie, see ya Natalie."

"It's kind of scary, don't you think?" asks Sadie once they're safely inside the room. "How he can just make her disappear like that."

"He's not actually mad... well, not that mad; my guess is he's doing it to keep her and the baby safe. Could you imagine a baby around here?"

"We've got Gracie." At eight, Gracie is the youngest member of the gang; Andre found her in an alley three months before, and despite her age, she is scary good at both disabling alarms and at poker. Both Tasha and Sadie have lost more than their fair share of stuff to the girl, and it makes Tasha a bit sad, because it reminds her of Pepper.

"Gracie knows how to use the toilet," is Tasha's curt reply, and, seeing that the other girl doesn't feel like talking, Sadie falls silent.

* * *

He is surprised when he doesn't actually get in that much trouble. The head teacher deems the attack 'provoked,' and says that exceptions must be made giving Clint's history- though Clint is never to anything like that again.

Amongst his peers he gets nothing but congratulations- Chris is a douche, and everyone knows it. The resounding message is 'we're glad someone finally put him in his place.' The only one who is upset is Jessica- they weren't ever really dating, but she makes it very clear that she wants nothing to do with him in the future.

Coulson isn't pleased, and on the drive home announces that Clint needs to take up a sport, "as a positive outlet for your anger." Clint's annoyed retort that he isn't angry is ignored.

They settle on boxing and archery. He isn't thrilled by the latter- who wants to get involved with such a stupid, poncey sport?- but his tune soon changes when it is declared that he has a natural gift. He is soon captain of the school archery team, then winner of the county championships, and he places second in state.

"What were you saying about it being stupid?" hums Coulson when he catches his adoptive son polishing his trophy for the third time that week.

"Shut up," mutters the archer, and the agent smiles.

* * *

"Natalie?" says a small voice behind her as she strides towards the kitchens. Tasha pauses, turning to find herself staring down into the dark brown eyes of Gracie, the youngest member of the motley gang that's become her family.

"Yeah?"

"Angus told me you know ballet; s'it true?" Tasha shrugs, then nods- she has no idea where the younger girl is going with this conversation, but there's no point in lying.

"I used to do lessons, yeah; could probably still remember a lot of it, if I thought about it hard enough." Gracie looks amazed; more than amazed, she looks awestruck, like she's just seen a fairy, and Tasha finds herself fighting back a smile. "I could probably teach you a thing or two, if you want?" She thinks the little girl may faint from happiness.

"Yes please!"

"Okay- but you have to teach me how to disable electric locks in return. Deal?" Gracie shakes the extended hand.

"Deal!"

* * *

Clint unfolds the worn scrap of paper, stealing a glance at the calendar hanging on the wall. Yup. Three months. His heart doesn't know whether it should lift or sink at that, so it settles for beating madly. He bites his lip and heads downstairs.

"Coulson?" The man is in the kitchen, chopping onions for tonight's risotto, but he puts the knife down when he sees Clint.

"What is it, Clint? Has something happened?"

"No, no, it's.. well..." they sit down at the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, Clint trying to find the right way to say it. "Do you remember when you first, uh, caught me? And you were driving me to the office, and I asked what another way of saying back-up plan was?"

"And I said, contingency plan; yes, Clint, what about it?" Clint resettles himself, uncomfortable under the full intensity of Coulson's stare.

"Me and... I mean, Natasha and I... we had a contingency plan." And he explains about how it was originally going to be him and Barney in New York, and how Tasha suggested the contingency plan, on her birthday the year that she turns sixteen. Coulson is silent for a long time after he finishes. "Coulson?"

"It's in a month's time, am I right?"

"Yes, sir; a month and two days."

"And you definitely want to go through it?" Clint hesitates ,unsure if he's hearing what he is.

"Yes, sir; we made a deal. I can't just leave her, now, can I?" Coulson sighs and leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees.

"Then I'll organise it. I'll send you up to New York for three days, but I need to ask you, Clint- try to make her see that not all care homes are bad. See if you can't get her to come back with you." Clint bites his lip and nods.

"I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

* * *

She finds Andre and explains the situation to him, as much as she needs to to get him to understand. She tells him about Clint, and about their contingency plan. When she finishes the older boy nods.

"That two weeks away? I guess it makes sense you want to get going early; you've got two states to cross, don't you?"

"If it doesn't work... if he isn't there... I'll come back. Keep working as I have been these past few years." He flashes her a quick smile and pulls two fifty dollar bills from his pocket.

"You see that you do; you're a good girl, Natalie. Here, to help you with your trip."

"Thank you," she tells him, and leaves to pack her stuff.

As she packs, she explains to Sadie, who remembers her talking about Clint when she first arrived. Now Tasha is taller than her, and she has grown her pixie cut into a bob, which she dies a dark blue/black. A nose ring and an eyebrow piercing have joined the lip piercing, and she has a tattoo on her neck of a snake holding a key.

Gracie comes in halfway through her packing, and- upon finding out that she is leaving- promptly bursts into tears.

"Why are you going?" the young girl sobs, and Sadie rubs her back soothingly as Tasha continues to pack. "You can't just leave! You were going to teach me how to go on point!"

"Gracie, I can't, I'm sorry; but you listen to me, okay? Gracie!" The younger girl pauses in her bawling to blink at Tasha. "You're going to stay here. You're going to work hard and you're going to stay out of trouble. You're going to get real good with electrics, and then, when you're big, you're going to get a job at an electrics company. Then you can get real ballet lessons- proper ones, not done by some dumb teenager like me. Okay?"

"Okay," sniffles Gracie. "I'll miss you." Tasha stands up, shouldering her pack.

"I'll miss you too; Sadie? Can I get a hug?" Sadie steps in and they embrace, clinging to each other one last time.

"Good luck, Natalie," Sadie whispers. "If he isn't there- come back to us."

"I will," she whispers back. "And Sadie? It's Natasha. Tasha for short." Sadie gives her a watery smile, breaking away to dab at her eyes.

"Okay; Tasha? It's Selene." They embrace one last time, and Tasha heads out.

* * *

"Do you have your passport?"

"Yes."

"Your ticket?"

"Yes."

"Your emergency money?" Clint heaves a long suffering sigh.

"We've been over this like eight times; I've got everything. Besides, it's still twenty minutes until the cabbie gets here."

"Well, there's something I've been wanting to say to you before you leave, so that's fortunate."

"Don't worry, Coulson, I have my spare underwear too." At Coulson's grave expression, Clint's smirk dropped. "What is it?"

"Seeing Tasha... well, it might be a shock. It's been _six years, _Clint. People change a lot in six years- you more so than anyone I've ever seen. But Tasha hasn't been in social services. She hasn't been adopted. Most likely, she's been on the street all this time."

"I get it, she might be on drugs."

"No, Clint, that's not what I'm saying. When you were first brought in, you were hostile, scared, angry at the world. You were severely underweight and you were displaying signs of mild malnutrition. It's very likely that, when you see Tasha, she will be the same."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it wouldn't be fair to send you in ignorant. I know you want to make sure she's safe, give her the same life you enjoy... but don't be surprised if she doesn't want it." Clint bites his lip and nods, thinking it over. Outside, a horn honks- the cabbie has arrived early. "Clint? Come back to me, okay?" The teenager manages a watery smile and bumps his adoptive father's shoulder.

"Don't worry, old man- I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**I live in South England- I know nothing about gang life outside of what I've seen in films. Please don't shoot.**

**Also, I tried to make these tender goodbye scenes. That clearly didn't work :P Sorry 'bout that.**

**Reviews are welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! I've done! I've finished it! I don't know what to say, other than I didn't let this one get too carried away (it's just over 4K) and that the next one up will be 'The cousins' and thank you for reading, please enjoy and don't forget to review!**

**Also, in England they're called tights, but I don't know what they are in the US- someone told me 'pantihose,' but if it's wrong then drop me a line and I'll correct it.**

* * *

**Reunions**

He is sat in the hotel, trying to fight a rising queasiness that is threatening to throw the crappy aeroplane meal all over the walls.

Coulson, bless his creepy little heart, booked him three days in a hotel, so that he and Tasha have time to talk and reconcile and all that stuff before he has to try to convince her to come back with him. If she doesn't- well, he doesn't know what he'll do then.

_Tasha_

At one point, she was the only constant in his life- the only thing he could trust to be there, always, ready to help him. After what happened with his parents and with Barney, he needed that more than anything.

And for a long while he hated Coulson, for tearing them apart, for trapping him in a house and at a school; he felt like the man had been making him to pretend his life was normal, was sunshine and lollipops when it clearly wasn't.

Now he realises that Coulson catching him that day was probably one of the best things that ever happened to him; he just has to hope that she understands that.

It has been nearly six years since they last saw each other, and now Clint wonders, once again, what she has been doing these long years. Despite his friends at school and his life at home with Coulson, he has never stopped thinking about her, wondering about her, hoping that she is managing, wishing he could talk to her. He hopes that she is okay, and that she will be there tomorrow. If she isn't... well, he'll just have to wait another nine years.

He doesn't know if he could bear that.

* * *

"Hey, pretty girly. Want to come back to my place tonight?" The man is drunk, propping himself against the wall as he leers down at her. She bares her teeth back at him.

"About as much as I'd like to contract the plague from one of these rats." He fumbles for an answer, but is quelled by her vicious stare.

"S'yer loss," he mumbles, staggering away, but Tasha is just relieved it didn't come to a confrontation.

This city is amazing, and though she has been here for three days now she is still trying to get her head around it. There are so many homeless people that no one gives a second glance to a teenager sleeping rough. She has never felt more invisible, and it is both relieving and an awful feeling at the same time. People's eyes slide right through her, except when someone pauses to drop a quarter at her feet or to make a comment which she ignores. She still has twenty dollars left, so if Clint manages to escape from whatever prison Coulson locked him away in then they could make it out of the city by tomorrow evening. Or they could blow it on a big meal- she's happy either way. So long as he's there.

Clint's absence has been like a papercut these past six years- just when she thinks it might be healing, something happens to rip it open and start it stinging again. Their quick, friendly banter and his general silliness were what kept her from getting too wrapped up in the past. His steady gaze kept her grounded when she thought the tides of life would sweep her away, and oh gods, is she really getting this sentimental? It sounds like she's writing fucking poetry or something.

Shaking her head, the young runaway draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her coat more tightly around herself. New York in January is one of the last places you want to be when you're homeless, and sheltered though she is by the alleyway, she isn't completely protected from the wind and the sleet.

_Just one more night,_ she tells herself. One more night, and then they can work something out; maybe she can take Clint to meet Andre and the gang; maybe they could find their way back to the Hillock, see if Pepper and Steve and Bruce aren't still around. Or, hey, they're in New York- didn't Howard Stark recently buy a luxury flat up here? She saw the article in the newspaper she was covering the floor with last time she died her hair- perhaps they could go find Tony.

So long as they're together, she is happy to do whatever, no matter how clichéd it sounds. And tomorrow, hopefully, they'll finally be together; it is this fact that gets her through the freezing night.

* * *

They had never specified what time they were going to meet, so Clint finds himself at the base of the statue at 8:30, bundled up in his thick coat and his scarf, his stomach a churning mess of nerves. Around him, the shivering tourists throng, smiles brittle as they throw up peace signs and have their friends or strangers take photos for them.

By half past eleven his fingers are burning and his face has gone numb with cold. Catching sight of a street vendor at the end of the block, the younger Barton realises that a hot dog has never before sounded so appealing. For a moment, he hesitates, but it will only take a minute- she won't come and go in that time. Clutching his coat to himself against the wind, he begins the trek through the muddy New York slush.

* * *

It takes her longer than she expected to get there- the buses are all down because of the snow, and she doesn't want to waste valuable money by taking the underground.

By the time she arrives, Tasha is frozen to the bone, and really, it's hardly surprising. She hasn't had any proper winter clothes since she left Russia, and what she brought up from the gang hasn't really left her equipped. Traipsing along the streets of New York in a tiny black dress, pantihose full of tears after sleeping on the streets for the past two weeks, stilettos and a thin cargo jacket certainly gets her a lot of wolf whistles, but doesn't do very much in terms of keeping her _warm_.

Another problem presents itself when she arrives: despite the snow and the wind, it is _packed. _She doesn't know how she'll ever find Clint in this crowd, seeing as she doesn't even know what he looks like anymore- can only remember a little boy with dark hair and darker eyes, tanned gold by a summer spent next to the lake.

She gets there just before half past eleven and spends a couple of minutes just stood in the centre of the square, turning in circles and craning her neck, hoping to somehow spot him in the crowd. Suddenly a heavy hand clamps down on her shoulder.

"Ma'am," says the voice of a very annoyed and very cold looking policeman, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What?" She tries to break away, but the grip is strong. "Why?!"

"There's no loitering allowed, not here." His voice drops. "Do you know what sort of reputation pickpockets will get us? You need to go."

"What? But I'm not a pickpocket!" She twists and struggles as he begins to drag her away. "No! Listen to me! I'm waiting for a friend, I'm not going to steal anything! Let go of me!"

"Tasha?" asks a voice, and both she and the policeman freeze. There, with a very confused expression, and a hot dog in one hand, is Clint.

* * *

They go back to the hotel as soon as they've sorted things out with the policeman, and Clint's mind is reeling, trying to grasp the fact that _Tasha is right here._

She is completely different and completely unchanged, and it's making his head hurt to look at her- or maybe that's his heart? Whereas he had always been taller than her, he is now looking up to meet her eye, and though he knows it is because of her scary tall heels, it is still a disconcerting feeling.

Tasha's hair is no longer ginger, though due to dye or it just naturally changing, he doesn't know; it is a darkish brown, though still coppery in certain lights, and swishes down to the middle of her back. Her every move is graceful, fluid, like a mountain stream, but her eyes are shattered, as though the stream had turned to rapids.

"Nice place," she mutters, gazing around the hotel room. "Who'd you have to kill to afford this?" Before she can say anything else, however, he has wrapped her up in the most massive hug he has ever given anyone in his life. Her arms wind around his neck and she hugs him back; for a long time they are just stood there, taking comfort in the other's presence.

"So," he says when they finally break apart. "I suppose we have a lot of catching up to do?"

* * *

They sit on one of the beds- because this room has two of them, two doubles, and she still can't get her mind around the fact that Clint is staying here instead of out on the street- and they tell each other everything about the last six years. She tells him about running away, away from the backwater town, joining the gang and rooming with Sadie and teaching Gracie ballet. In return, he tells her about Coulson adopting him, and how he's been going to regular school, and while he talks she watches him.

He is completely unchanged and completely different at the same time, and it fills her with a hollow longing, a bitter nostalgia of past lives, time slipping through her fingers before her very eyes. He has filled out- his shoulders have broadened and he's put on weight. The hollow cheekbones and jutting collarbones are gone, replaced with an aura of ruddy health, and while he is still slim, it is in a wiry, toned way, as opposed to malnutrition.

After talking for hours they go downstairs, where Clint tells her the dinner is included with the cost of his room. It is an all you can eat buffet, and Tasha hasn't had access to this much food since her father had died. Clint has a plate of roast, a plate of pasta and a bowl of desert before declaring himself full. She has pasta and roast, soup and bread and rice and vegetables, fruit from the fruit bowl, cold meats, hot meats, fish, cheese and grapes and salad, and four different types of ice cream before the meal is over, and if some of the other patrons frown at her outfit, well, they can go fuck themselves.

* * *

"So, Tasha," he says when they are up in their room, and she is wrapped in one of the hotel's fluffy dressing gowns because she doesn't have any night clothes. "I have to check out tomorrow by eleven. I've got a flight to catch home that leaves at twelve." He sees her eyes widen and her lips purse as she braces herself for what must seem like the inevitable. Instead, he pulls two plane tickets from his bag. "And I want... I need you with me when I go."

The ex-ginger's eyes widen, and she nibbles her bottom lip in an old nervous habit he remembers from when they were young.

"You want me to come visit you?" He smiles and takes her hand, because she needs to know how important it is that she says yes.

"I want you to come stay with me."

"But what about Coulson?"

"Coulson said that you're allowed to stay for as long as you want; he even said..." suddenly Clint was nervous- what if she laughed in his face? "He even said he would be happy to foster you. You know, if you don't want to be on the street anymore. I mean, I get that you have your gang and stuff, but Coulson has a house with a spare room, and there's always food and it's warm and, well, we would actually be together." She looks at him, large eyes conflicted.

"I don't suppose there's any chance in the world you would run away with me instead?"

* * *

She regrets it as soon as she says it, because now his brow has crumpled in confusion and uncertainty and, gods, it was such a stupid question!

"Forget it," she tells him, "forget I ever asked. Just... just forget it." And his eyes are such an intense mixture of worry and hope that it breaks her heart when he looks at her.

"Tasha- we don't have to run away. Not any more." No, she doesn't have a lump in her throat, and no, her eyes aren't watering when she nods.

"Okay," she manages, nodding. "So long as you're there."

* * *

When the taxi drops them off to the house, Clint could swear that Coulson actually looks slightly _awkward _as he shakes hands with Tasha. He asks her if she has any luggage, and the younger Barton's heart gives a lurch when he suddenly realises that she's carrying Barney's beat up old school bag.

Finding out that all she owns in the world is in that school bag, Coulson immediately takes her shopping, same as he'd done with Clint. They get dresses and jeans, shirts and skirts, shoes and, yes, Coulson is definitely blushing when he gives her $200 and shoos her off in the direction of women's underwear.

At home, she doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself, and Clint can relate, remembering how he was when Coulson first fostered him. So he shows her how to play second player on all his video games, and teaches her to cook an omelette, and sometimes, when she just needs to _get out of the house, get away from the walls and Clint, I can't do this _then they'll go for a long walk around town or through the park, no matter what time of the day or night it is.

* * *

When school starts up again and Tasha finds out that she is expected to go, she doesn't quite know how to feel.

On her first day, people make a fuss, but not in the way she'd expected- there is less _stupid Russian, Russian drunk, go back to your own country_ than she expected and a lot more _ooohhhhh, are you and Clint dating? I bet you are! Look, you're blushing!_ (she most certainly was not blushing).

It is strange and different and decidedly uncomfortable, and the teachers are weird and they treat her weird, but the work itself is oddly invigorating, and soon she is in mainly AP classes, though every now and then a gap will appear in her knowledge that everyone will look at her funny for. She finds that she actually loves language classes, and soon she is doing French, German and Latin, as well as already speaking both Russian and English fluently.

It takes all of three days for people to find out that she's lived on the street for the past six years, but no one says anything, not except for one guy called Chris, who makes a habit of cornering her when Clint's not around. One day he goes too far, and a mean right hook has him curled up on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. His girlfriend Jennifer hates her for it, but everyone else just seems to find it funny. It isn't until Clint explains to her that he did the same that she understands why.

The main thing she dislikes about school is how much time she has to spend away from Clint- though they spend every break and all their free periods together, the only class they share is sport, in which they both kick ass. The redhead- because she has cropped her hair short, and died it back to its original colour now that there's no need to worry about being ginger- can understand why people might think that they're dating; they probably spend more time together than most couples. However, it isn't like that. It's that she's got his back, and Tasha knows that he's got hers. So long as they're together, nothing bad can happen.

* * *

Aside from that one little incident with Chris, which the school administration barely bothered wasting their time with, Tasha takes to high school a lot better than he had been worried she would. She fits in relatively well with his group of friends, and even makes some new friends of her own, which he is proud of her for.

And if she sometimes slips into his room in the middle of the night, trembling like a leaf and blinking back tears, he doesn't say a word. He just wraps her up close in her arms, and when he wakes up next morning she's always disappeared again.

A year after Tasha moves in, Coulson adopts her as well, much to the apparent displeasure of his boss, Nick Fury. Clint vaguely remembers the man- the one with the eye patch who interrogated him when he was first caught. Fury didn't seem like the sort who would be happy about anything.

And then all of a sudden they're meant to be thinking about college and careers and their lives as adults, and Clint's panicking because he doesn't know _how _he's meant to do this stuff.

Coulson sits them down to have a long talk with them, and Clint admits that he doesn't want to go to college and Tasha admits the same. The agent nods, face closed off.

"Well, then, what do you want to do? Because without college, you may find your options are... limited."

Clint tells them how he wants to go into archery professionally, and Tasha explains that she wants to teach mixed martial arts- but she also wants to do online courses at the local community college. Coulson nods.

"Well, it's not what I would have chosen for you... but I suppose that why their your lives, not mine. If you change your minds, though, don't hesitate to tell me."

"Oh, yeah, by the way," Tasha slips in, expression supremely hopeful and more than a little pleading.

"We were wondering... you know, since we've been saving our money and stuff..." continues Clint, and Coulson appears to brace himself.

"If we could take a gap year?" Tasha finishes, and Coulson relaxes again, relief crossing his face.

"Well, I don't see why not," he says, and the two teenagers cheer. For the next few weeks, around homework and studying finals they can always be found sat up in the dining room, pouring over maps and looking at hiking trails, tourist destinations and youth hostels to stay in. They decide on Europe, on a four month back-packing trip across Europe, and three weeks after the end of high school, they head out.

* * *

They start in England, rushing around to see the sights of London, and Tasha remembers Tony talking about when he came here- Big Ben isn't as tall as he described it, and she wonders if it is because he was exaggerating or if it was because he was young.

They then head down to the British coast for two days by the sea, followed by a ferry to France. They visit the Champs Elysees and the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower and the palace of Versailles, Tasha doing all the talking for them while Clint just grins and nods along. After France, it's through Belgium and Holland to Germany, dropping down to Switzerland and then into Italy, followed by Austria and finally Hungary.

On the train between the final two, Tasha eats something decidedly 'off' (Clint has been a very fussy eater most of this journey, claiming that the majority of European food is decidedly 'off') and by the time they get to the hotel in Hungary's capital, Budapest, it is all she can do just to crawl into bed and pass out.

Clint, with a couple of hours to kill before any sane, healthy person would even think about going to sleep, decides to find a way to keep himself entertained. Despite the fact that he doesn't speak a word of Hungarian and the only German he knows is 'thank you' and 'I'm a donut,' he grabs the Hungarian money- Forint, or something like that- and makes his way down to the hotel bar.

Five drinks in and he is cheerfully babbling away to some new friends of his, who are not so cheerfully growling back in... he doesn't even know what language he himself is speaking, let alone what they're saying (and, notes a small part in the back of his brain, that could be a fun experiment with Tasha- get her drunk and see what language she speaks).

Somehow, despite the language barrier, he manages to deeply offend them, and while he may be the best boxer in his club, seven glasses of Hungarian beer can slow a person's reflexes down quite substantially- not to mention that there are five of them.

"What happened to you?" asks Tasha next morning when she wakes up, looking much better than before. He groans, head pounding.

"I went to the hotel pub-thing whatever they call them last night... I told you all European food is dodgy. She looks concerned.

"Well I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home tomorrow, then, isn't it? Come on, I know you're feeling shit, but let's at least try and see some of the sights before we leave?" He groans again, but lets her drag him out of bed- it looks like, hungover or not, he has to go and see the city.

* * *

After their gap year, she and Clint make sure to follow up on their promise to Coulson it terms of getting a job. Clint works as a shelf stacker during the day and a bartender in the evenings, while Tasha's 'good looks and toned physique' have landed her a job as a personal trainer in the local gym.

"You know, it's not just because I'm pretty!" she heatedly tells Clint when he teases her for it. He pulls a face back.

"Sure it is- all bosses rate the girls on their looks, even if their girls themselves!"

"I like your nail polish, Clint," says Coulson at breakfast the next morning, peering at it over the top of his paper. "I have to say, it's different to your normal style- but I've always thought that purple does suit you." Clint flushes and Tasha smirks.

"I'm glad you like it," she tells the agent, "because Clint's going to be wearing it for the next three days- aren't you, Clint?"

"I hate you both," is all he snaps in return, storming off to get changed for his job.

* * *

"You know what I think we should do," he says one day, when they're sat in the lounge playing videogames.

"What?" replies Tasha, huffing as she dies yet again.

"I think we should probably move out soon- you know, give Coulson some peace. How much money do we have in our savings?"

"$4000."

"Shit- see? We could get a flat! You could start your classes, and I can find another job and train until the Olympics comes up." The red head pauses the game and turns to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm game for that. A flat just for us, somewhere in the city."

Coulson takes the news well- they're twenty, he's probably been wondering if they'd ever move out- and they begin house hunting... with little success.

"Too expensive... too big... no way are we getting a flat next to an airport..." Tasha keeps up the running commentary as they skim through ads in the paper, and as the months pass he wonders if they'll ever find something.

"Coulson?" asks Tasha at breakfast one morning. "Are you done with your paper?"

"Nearly," hums the man, "I just want to finish this article- it's about the town where you two were staying."

"Really?" asks Clint, because he's heard nothing about there since he got caught. "What's it say?"

"Nothing I expect you'll be interested in- just that there was a problem with some wiring, and that a house burned down. Two people were killed. Maybe I should get someone to recheck our wiring- it's been a few years since I last had it done..."

"You do that," says Tasha, teasing the paper out of his hands. "Come on Clint, we've got a flat to find!"

Five days later, he opens the door to a pair of very familiar cousins.

* * *

**How do you touching moment?**


End file.
